


The Devil Within

by Background_Foxe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Bottom Sam Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fight Sex, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Implied Cas/Dean - Freeform, Incest, M/M, Mild Angst, Sarcasm, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Sam fights against the increasing suggestions made by the hallucination of Lucifer who whispers bad, inappropriate things to him about Dean. But Lucifer is wrong. There's no way he’s interested in his brother sexually, now or ever....right?Author's Note: Set roughly around early season seven and Castiel has already 'died'. Some canon divergence, mostly lack of comment surrounding the Leviathan complications. Story to fulfil personal need for a Lucifer devil-in-the-ear situation
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	The Devil Within

*

“You know you want to.”

They were soft words, just at the edge of audible. And Sam was desperately trying not to listen.

It had been like this for a week now. At first Sam had ignored him, but his hallucination was growing more persistent as the days went on. More pointed. More _descriptive_. And Sam hated to admit it but it was gnawing through his defences with horrifying success.

He didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else. His soul, gone and back again. Purgatory. Leviathans. And Cas … but Dean didn’t want them talking about Cas, and Sam had just gone with it. Shit was bad enough without actively trying to goad his brother, especially with their relationship still questionable.

And if he listened to the hallucination, there was more than one possibility of relationship on offer.

Gritting his teeth, Sam tried to refocus on the laptop screen in front of him. The newspaper article spoke about an unexplained death, a woman drained of blood in a nearby wood with suspicious toothmarks decorating her body. The situation was clearly of interest and yet his mind just couldn’t concentrate.

No, that was incorrect. It certainly could concentrate, only not on the thing it should be.

“You see?” Lucifer’s purr was pleased. Sam’s teeth gritted even harder to the extent that he was threatening a cracked tooth, one finger tapping irritably on the tabletop. No. No, he really, _really_ didn’t either want to see or want or lust or anything else that Lucifer had been whispering in his ear. Just no.

He could hear Lucifer - the hallucination - sigh dreamily in the background as Sam glared at the screen. 

“Ah, Sammy. I thought you were someone who dealt with _reality_.”

“This is rich coming from a hallucination.” Sam growled back, unable to stop the words. There was a delighted chuckle.

“I prefer to think of myself as more a vision, and anyway, you know I’m right. You want to, and you want him. The whole denial thing is cute but ultimately pointless.”

He had to ignore it. Responding would only result in continuing the argument and giving the damned thing some legitimacy, and besides which -

\- besides which, this wasn’t something he ever wanted to think about. Sam and his brother did crazy things all the time, did things that ‘normal’ people would view as insane, even abhorrent. They fought and they bled and they did the stuff that had to be done regardless of whether it was morally acceptable. Innocent people died around them, no matter how much they tried to avoid it. And all of that was still much better than the whispered suggestions that were on offer.

“You know I’m right,” Lucifer repeated in his soft, warm, dangerous voice, a sweet bunny rabbit with vicious poisonous fangs. 

“You’re not right.” Sam whispered back.

“Really?” a pleased hint to the words. “You’re really saying you’ve never looked at him and wondered what it would be like to touch him? That you haven’t noticed the curve of his body and the shape of his lips and the come to bed eyes? Because I’ve got access to your mind, Sammy. I _know_.”

Sam felt his lips go dry and had to swallow. “You know nothing.”

“Sammy, please. You know the lore. You breathe the lore. Lucifer, demons… traditionally it’s not all fire and torture, not on Earth. No, it’s _temptation_. Things that people want but can’t have.” Lucifer’s voice had dropped to a syrupy softness. “Temptation doesn’t work with things that people are indifferent or repulsed by. Deep down, you want this. You want _him_.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.” Lucifer whispered. “You’ve seen him when he gets out the shower and walks around in that tiny little hand towel because he’s too lazy to find a bath sheet. You’ve seen him stripped and naked, lying across a bed asleep. How many times have you walked in on him banging some server across the bed, dick deep and body gleaming in sweat? How many times have you just wanted to reach out and _touch_ him without needing it to hide in a brotherly hug or a wrestling match or something else?”

Sam stared at his laptop screen so hard he almost went cross-eyed, jaw rigid. Lucifer chuckled again.

“Awww, are you not talking to me any more? Poor Sammy. How hard it must be to lust after your own brother. To want his fingertips caressing your skin. To hear his rough voice say your name, to gasp out as you touch him. To sink into his warm, tight body.. Or perhaps him sink into you... Is that right, Sammy? You want to be taken by your big brother?”

Sam slammed down the laptop lid and stood violently enough that the chair fell over backward. The noise of the impact did nothing to dissuade the ‘vision’ from speaking.

“It’s okay, Sammy. Really, it is. I mean, what’s the harm? Who’d die from this? It’s not as though you have a family member left to get upset about it. It would just be you and him, and who’s going to know you’re brothers unless you tell them, mmm?” Lucifer prowled a little closer but Sam had already had enough. Marching to the door, he grabbed his coat and keys on the way and was about to rip open the door when Dean came in from the other direction. They both skidded to a halt, mere centimeters away from each other which at least was better than a crashed mess.

Dean stared at him in bewilderment. Sam tried to focus on Dean’s eyes and not how the pouring rain had caused Dean’s hair to resemble a punk hedgehog or how it had plastered his clothing tightly to his form. Really, _really_ not helping, and Sam bit his lip as Dean raised the plastic bag in his hand and gave a happy, triumphant grin.

“S’okay, I got everything.” he said, as proud as any five year old with a special painting, and wandered past him. “Beer, pie, chips, some weird cakey thing that looks awesome, and one of those salad things for you.”

Worse? This was probably the happiest Sam had seen him in weeks, and Lucifer was cheerfully spoiling it. Sam’s jaw tightened as he tried to refocus. 

Dumping the bag on the table, Dean suddenly noticed his brother hadn’t moved. He turned and frowned at him

“Hey, you okay? You’re looking kinda …,” Dean made a random circling gesture with a hand and then gave up. “.. weird.”

“I’m fine.”

Dean scoffed at that.

“Sounds bullshit to me. No one is ever fine when they say they’re fine, and you’re still all stiff. You started reading those political forums on the internet again? I told you to ignore them,”

Sam folded his arms and stared stubbornly at the door. Now he was close he could hear the pouring rain outside, a perfect accompaniment to his current mood. 

He almost jumped out of his skin as Dean’s hand gently rested on his shoulder in a friendly squeeze of support that only ended up sending a shot of need down his spine and through his body and fucking hell, _he did not want his brother_. This had to be Lucifer’s doing. He’d clearly rewritten bits of his brain or had some sort of brain damage or something.

“Whoa, Sammy!” Dean had nearly fallen over at the reaction, eyes wider than before. “Shit, man, you okay?”

Definitely not, but how could he say that? Sam ran his hand through his hair and waved a hand toward the laptop.

“I…,” he tried to find a suitable excuse. “... there were a few articles on an abuse case. Small kids. Pretty horrible. You know how it is.”

Dean studied him for a moment silently and suspiciously, and Sam knew the thoughts without hearing them. They’d been bickering on and off for weeks now. Weird behaviour, not wanting to be touched, glaring looks? Wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that was all linked to their current situation. After all, who would think of the truth? Hell, _Sam_ barely believed the truth and it was his head.

Thankfully Dean seemed to be in a reasonable mood, which just made Sam feel even guiltier. “Yeah, I know. Here, have a beer, try to take your mind off it. Try some music?”

Sam was about to refuse the beer, then thought about it and accepted. It wasn’t much but as a distraction it was better than nothing, and there was something to be said for having an item in your hands to avoid doing other things. That was getting increasingly necessary as Dean pulled off his coat and boots and then calmly began to pull off the fabric that had been covering his upper body.

“Is there any reason for the strip tease?” Sam had wanted to keep the words light, but they escaped both accusatory and a little panicked instead. Dean paused and frowned harder at him.

“What? Sam, I’m _soaked_. Gonna have a shower and get changed. Didn’t know I needed your approval.” he deliberately pulled off the clothing and dumped it in a messy pile at his feet. Sam growled desperately internally and took another mouthful of beer.

“Couldn’t you have done it, I don’t know, in the actual shower?!”

“But then how would you be able to watch?” Lucifer murmured in his ear. Dean was still watching him as though he’d grown three heads.

“That shower room is a closet, and you know that. I’m not hopping across a small space just because of .. fuck, I don’t even know your objection here! You got some delicate sensibilities I don’t know about?” Dean’s voice was getting an edge of its own, but Sam couldn’t pay attention to that when his nipples were _right there_.

“And you want to touch them, don’t you?” Lucifer continued in a painfully pleased way. “I can feel it.”

Sam’s jaw tightened again. Oh, not now. Fuck sake.

Dean clearly took the expression on Sam’s face as directed at him, which was a reasonable assumption. The frown darkened further.

“Whatever, Sam. If you want to turn into some prude, you can do it in your corner of the room. Me? I’m just going to carry on,” Dean pulled off the rest of the clothing defiantly and then stalked toward the bathroom. Suddenly the nipples were no longer the number one thing to worry about.

Sam closed his eyes briefly and took another mouthful of beer as he did so, followed swiftly by another. This was insane. This was his _brother_. They’d been together for all of their lives, through hard times and the occasional laughs. Dean had brought him up more than their father had ever done, and not once out of that had the love ever felt more than the unconditional protective love of a sibling.

This had to be Lucifer.

“Keep telling yourself that, kiddo.” the hallucination stretched and offered a happy, lazy, toothy grin. “Because I’m not sure your history is quite accurate. And you’re hard, aren’t you? There’s an ache just because you caught sight of your brother’s ass, and to be fair it’s a good ass, but it is .. as you say.. Your brother’s. And I can feel how much you really, really wanted to touch it.”

“Stop.” Sam gritted out. Lucifer thought about it for a moment, then grinned further.

“No.”

Sam growled in the back of his throat and turned around, draining the rest of the beer as though he might drown out the thoughts in an alcoholic flood. Lucifer was wrong. That was the whole damned point of him, to harass, to distress, to entertain himself with breaking people with as much agony as possible. It wasn’t true. He loved his brother, but it was _normal_. One of the few normal things of their damned lives, and sure, not everyone had a close relationship with their sibling but it wasn’t as though they didn’t squabble every so often. Or, rather, at least once a day, and that was a conservative estimate.

He did not want his brother in the way that Lucifer was describing. He didn’t. 

Sam cast a dark look back toward the closed bathroom door. He could hear the running water, identify the occasional notes of songs from where Dean was happily singing to himself, and know that right now Dean would be soaped up with hands in his hair and water trickling down his-

Sam crunched the can in his hand without thinking.

“Ooh,” said Lucifer. “Dramatic. And ultimately pointless, but you do you.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

“I’d love to, but I’m a little restricted by your overly compensating brain there. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to help a love story,” Lucifer purred again. “He wants you, you know. It’s quite sweet.”

Sam dumped the can in a bin as he scoffed at the suggestion. “He doesn’t.”

“I like the confidence. Very manly. Very grr. Very determined.” Lucifer shrugged and continued to pick at his nails. “ I probably need a shower myself. Honestly. Blood and guts get under the nails so badly.”

Sam went back to ignoring him. Again, not as successful as he would have liked. Instead he paced to the window and lifted the dodgy motel window treatment to look out at the current deserted, extremely wet, car park as though this might offer an escape route.

“You know he thinks of you late at night?” Lucifer had parked himself on the top of a chest of drawers and was musing to himself. “When the lights are off and you’re fast asleep. Sometimes you throw the blankets off and he can see you.”

“That’s bullshit for a start. Dean always falls asleep quicker than I do. It’s like a damned switch.” Sam snapped back, not looking away from his window.

“At the start, sure. But he wakes up. Gets bad dreams. His sleep pattern is just a series of little dream sequences, and you? You’re the subject of several.”

Sam made a half laugh, half snort noise of dismissal and continued to stare out of the window angrily.

“No.”

“I’ve seen his dreams.”

“You’re a hallucination. You can’t see his dreams. You’re stuck here.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Lucifer drawled with any annoyingly cheerful hint to his words. “I’m the one who’s changed your brain chemistry or whatever it is so you’re ‘suddenly’ attracted to your brother. And yet, I’m not real and therefore I also can’t possibly know what said brother is dreaming about? Sounds inconsistent to me, but what do I know, I’m just a probable hallucination. Glad it works for _you_ , though.”

It definitely didn’t work for him. Sam glowered and tried to ignore him. This also didn’t work. Lucifer waited politely before picking at his nails again.

“I’m still not sure what you’re trying to achieve here. Not to put it too bluntly, the entirety of your family is dead.” Pause. “Okay, that might be a little blunt, but still, it’s true. You stay in the same room as him, you’re joined at the hip, you bicker like a married couple. Who’s gonna know? Who’s gonna _care_? Because unless you start getting really complicated and able to carry a kid, it’s all just messy fun.”

“You would say that. You’re the devil.”

“I am. And, quite frankly, if I was going to torment you over something then it would be something more horrendous than _social expectations_.” Lucifer lowered his head a little, his eyes gleaming red briefly. “You steal. You fight. You _kill_. Is who you kiss really the thing to get your panties in a knot about? _Really?_ ”

Sam pointed an accusatory finger at him, which Lucifer looked at politely. “It’s just part of tormenting me, that’s it. I know your game.”

“Actually, my game is normally Scabble, although it’s annoying to keep up with dictionary changes.” Lucifer gave him an easy smile. “This is more a variation on a theme. What would you like me to say, Sammy? That I know you dream of running your tongue over his nipple and gently suckling on it while your hand jerks him off? That he dreams of turning you over and biting at your neck as he roughly shoves his dick into your tight, needy hole while you whine at him? That you’ve dreamt of continuing your wrestling matches into some type of sexual activity since .. oh, when was it, eighteen? That you want to spread his ass and-,”

“Stop. Just…,” Sam closed his eyes. “Stop.”

“Oh, Sammy, you don’t get it.” The smile was evident in his words. “ _This isn’t me._ This is _you_. This is _him_. This is you getting hard whenever you’re close enough to breathe in his scent and hear him growl out whatever demand he has. This is him tossing you across a bed, his hand pinning your head and shoulders to the mattress while he sinks into your ass. This is you wanting to tie him spreadeagled to the bed and perform things that some of my demons would need to look up in a book. This, my boy, is a _Winchester_ thing. Because, my dear little Sammy, you are both utterly, _utterly_ fucked up.”

Sam gritted his teeth and stared sullenly out of the window. Lucifer wanted the argument. That was all this was. None of it was true.

The _majority_ of it wasn’t true. And anyway, it was well documented that dreams often contained random people in random circumstances. Didn’t mean anything. The brain was complicated. _It wasn’t true_.

“Of course it’s true,” Lucifer chuckled softly. “Would it be of any fun if it wasn’t?”

Sam growled, deep, dark and very serious. 

Lucifer didn’t care.

Still, they were no longer on their own. The shower finished, Dean walked back in with a small towel wrapped gallently around his middle and drying his hair with what appeared to be a hand towel. 

“So,” he drawled as he tossed the hand towel back into the bathroom and wandered toward the food on the table. “You finished being nuts yet?”

Sam glowered more. Lucifer raised an eyebrow and gave a small gesture toward the still damp Dean, whose naked upper half glistened in the light from the remaining moisture. Dean shot Sam a harder look and rolled his eyes before pulling the ‘awesome’ cake toward him and opening the package.

“See? It’s like a doughnut and a cake had a love child,” Dean was gleeful, pulling off a chunk of cake and sucking the sugar off his fingertips. Sam closed his eyes wearily. Could have done without seeing that.

“I’m gonna go to bed.” Sam said starkly, and crossed the bed without looking back at his brother. He was conscious of Dean’s eyes on him as he did so, and even more conscious of the little sucking noises from Dean’s attempts to remove his fingers from their sugary burden. 

“It’s eight pm.” Dean pointed out.

“I’m tired.” Sam kicked off his boots and lay down, deliberately facing away. There was a long pause that even licking noises didn’t break, before Dean cracked open a can of beer in a manner that was extremely pointed. 

“Okay. What the fuck, Sammy?”

Sam remained quiet. Sadly Dean did not take the hint.

“I mean it. Sure, you sulk a lot and normally I put up with it, but today? Nah. This is crap and you know it, Sam. Either behave normally or spit it out.” There was another pause that was probably Dean’s mouth being occupied by either cake or beer or potentially both. 

Sam closed his eyes and tried to ignore everything. Everything did not want to ignore him.

“He’s still wearing that snazzy little towel of his,” Lucifer commented from his position on the chest of drawers. “You see? I mean, most people would have put on some clothes or something, but not your brother. No, he’s happy to just let things be _free_. That’s an opportunity you shouldn’t miss,”

“Shut up,” Sam hissed softly. 

“Nah.” Lucifer sounded far too comfortable.

“Did you just say shut up?” Dean was incredulous and increasingly annoyed. Sam groaned internally. Great. Now Dean’s hearing was apparently super fabulous. There was the grating sound of a chair being pushed back and Sam readied himself for a fight that wasn’t even deserved.

“Not you. Sorry.” he said finally, and still to the wall. 

“Then who? I’m the only person in the damned room.” Dean’s voice was close and clearly unimpressed. “ _Sammy!_ ”

“Could you _please_ put some damned clothes on?!”

“Are you still on about that? But .. oh, fine, sure, whatever.” Dean moved away and there were sounds of fumbling. “Right. I’m clothed. You gonna stop sulking now?”

Sam risked a look. An impatient Dean looked back at him, clad in some jeans and a slightly battered t-shirt. No nipples. No butt-cheeks. No six pack. No muscular shoulders. No groinal shot. Sam could feel the relief wash over him like a tsunami. 

“Not to be critical, but for someone who denies he likes boys you have quite the list of things you find attractive.” mused Lucifer.

“Thanks.” Sam ran his hand through his hair and rolled over to his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling. It did not offer him scenes of torment. In fact, the worst it was planning was a small, slightly startled spider. He could cope with that.

“So?” Dean waved a hand to indicate that additional words needed to be forthcoming before he got really upset.

“It’s nothing.”

“Then it wouldn’t be an ‘it’, would it? Don’t get me wrong, I’m well up for a solid argument occasionally but at least do it about stuff I’ve actually done!” Dean folded his arms again. Lucifer made a soft thoughtful noise and stretched like a cat waking up from a warm and satisfying nap.

“You know how this is going to go, don’t you? Why deny it?” Lucifer whispered.

“I’ve just got things on my mind,” Sam gritted out. The thing on his mind chuckled.

“We both know the score. You want a bit of awww comfort, and whenever you want that outside of really obvious things like deaths of friends and so on you don’t actually ask for a hug, you just organise an argument so you can fight out your pain and get some touchy feely stuff on an ‘ouch’ basis. And your brother is just as fucked up, only he leans toward the ‘punching solves everything’ theme because he can handle the concept. And so the cycle of Winchester life continues, Simba. You hurt and then you find something else to hurt _more_ so you can forget about ouch number one.” Lucifer mused. “Y’know, you guys kinda do my demons' jobs for them. Very efficient. I guess I should thank you if you weren’t massive pains in the ass, but you are.”

“Things on your mind?” Dean repeated carefully, as though checking for alternative meanings. “What sort of things on your mind make you suddenly upset about what clothes I am or am not wearing in a private setting? If I’m running around naked in the middle of the street you’re allowed to get upset. In here? No fucking way.”

“Oh, go on, tell him, it’ll be hilarious.” 

“Nothing.” Sam closed his eyes and growled softly. “I mean, it doesn’t matter.”

“Is it going to crop up again? Because if it is, I’m officially stating it matters because I’ll be fucked if I’m going to have that every damned day.”

Lucifer leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “Go on, give him a hug. See how that works out.”

Sam gritted his teeth again and stared at the ceiling. Dean eyed him.

“Not convincing me here, Sammy.”

“Just leave me alone,” 

“Was that to me or him?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Genuine question.”

Sam growled again. Like it would actually make any difference whatsoever with Lucifer and his handy little mental commentary. Dean threw up his hands and went back to his cake-doughnut thing, muttering something about idiotic brothers and their fucked up things on their mind.

For half an hour it was reasonably silent. Dean had a few beers and finished at least three quarters of the cake-thing at a speed that suggested he expected some type of wild beast to pop up halfway through and fight him for it. Sam was still staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a nice thought, but there was no damned way that was going to work. Lucifer was still sitting on his chest crooning a verse to ‘Blue Moon’, and Sam’s mind was genuinely busy anyway.

“You know, you _could_ give him a taste of his own medicine,” Lucifer mused after a while. “Coping your brother and his nudity habits. He’s used to you being the good one, remember? Or at least the socially acceptable one, barring the psychic attacks and demon blood and other stuff.”

And that was a ‘no fucking way’ with a side order of ‘fuck that’.

“He won’t remember otherwise.” Lucifer continued. “Because he doesn’t understand why you’re getting upset. It’s minor to him, like shutting the door sharply rather than softly. Grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. But if I’m right and he genuinely does like you in a non-brotherly way, then … well, you can probably work out how much he’d notice it with that. And if he doesn’t, I’m clearly wrong. You can’t lose.”

Sam entirely disagreed. There were multiple ways he could lose, and the universe enjoyed going through a list.

“He’s onto the whiskey again as well.” Lucifer mused. “Bit of an alcoholic, your brother.”

And that was another disagreement. Dean was a _lot_ of an alcoholic, but then there were other coping mechanisms out there that were more dangerous. His liver would probably give out eventually, but that did also rely on Dean not getting destroyed in whatever the next apocalypse was. Sam turned his head to watch his elder brother pour another shot and sighed again.

“Shut it.” Dean said. Clearly his hearing was amazing nowadays, as was his paranoia.

Back to ceiling, although the frown strengthened yet again. 

“You know you want to.” Lucifer’s voice was sing-song.

And annoyingly, he did. Sam studied the ceiling a little more, running it through his mind. It was a ridiculous suggestion but then these were ridiculous times. There was also something to be said for Lucifer’s observation that Dean just wouldn’t notice without something dramatic or sharing the issue. His brother was pretty damned good at ignoring things that didn’t have an immediate fuck or fight at the end.

A few moments later and he had made his decision. Fine. Everything off other than the pants, and that was only because he didn’t wear underwear. And, to be fair, it was at least more comfortable. The room had a novel approach toward ambient temperature regardless of whatever was whirring in the corner.

Back to studying the ceiling again, although he was aware of Dean’s attention out of the corner of his eyes.

“See?” Dean snorted. “Better, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Sam continued to look at the ceiling. Lucifer made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “So you’d have no problem with me walking around nude all the time?”

“All the time? Yeah, I’d have a problem. We attract attention enough without you doing things naked. In the room?” Dean made a soft noise but had already looked away, slightly uncomfortably. “Whatever. Enough to worry about already, right?”

“Mm.” Sam agreed, still watching his brother covertly. Apparently Dean was actually self conscious. Not much, he wasn’t sure whether Dean actually got fully self conscious, but from sheer experience Dean was hiding something. Sam remembered that small hunch from whenever Dean pretended he didn’t care what their father had shouted at them.

But despite his self consciousness, Dean had actually told him to continue. Weird.

“I hate to tell you I told you so… actually, I love it. Told you so.” Lucifer grinned, but Sam could genuinely ignore him during the mystery of his brother’s brain. But then did this mean anything? It was a bit of a damned leap between uncertainty and sex, and their recent history could easily explain why Dean wasn’t quite as comfortable as he once was.

Sam stretched lazily, mostly to see what Dean did. Answer involved more alcohol. Well, he should have seen that one coming.

“Ask him.” whispered the hallucination. Sam frowned, not entirely sure of the question he should ask. Not that he was planning to, of course. Lucifer generated questions rarely went well. There was a dramatic sigh against the idiocies of Winchesters.

“Ask him whether he’s interested in men.”

Sam snorted softly. Regardless of the facts, the answer would be guaranteed 100% ‘no’. Even if Dean genuinely was curious, he’d spent an extensive amount of his life shutting up about it. It was probably a habit by now.

Still, Dean seemed to have started the whisky in earnest which was a mild surprise without something serious on the horizon. Sam turned his head slightly to watch him, only to discover that Dean was keeping as much an eye on him as he was of Dean.

“What?” the word snapped out impatiently. So Sam said the first thing that came into his head.

“I was wondering… did you and Cas ever .. uh,”

On review, a bit of a mistake. The whisky bottle paused mid-pour, as though checking its hearing, before being slammed back onto the table as discomfort turned into annoyance. Blazing green eyes turned to him.

“ _What_?!”

Sam had been about to backtrack with a ‘never mind’ and comment on the weather, so he was slightly surprised to hear himself saying something entirely different.

“You and Cas. I always wondered. You were so close.” Often physically. How Dean managed to move without kicking the angel had always been a point of mystery.

“What the fuck has got into you today?!” Dean’s hand turned into a fist on the table.

“That’s not an answer,” Lucifer mused.

“That’s not an answer.” Sam agreed. Although he had no idea why he was pushing this. If Dean and Cas wanted to play hide the cucumber then it was none of his business. Still, it was just niggling him at the moment, like a sore tooth. 

Dean pushed himself up from the table and took a couple of steps in Sam’s direction.

“It’s none of your business,”

Sam frowned and then stared at him. That was .. not a no. It was 100% correct but it was not a no and that suggested .. that meant..

“Told you so.” Lucifer sighed happily.

“Wait. You and Cas _did_ sleep together?” Sam slowly sat up and swung his legs off the bed incredulously. Dean took a few more steps closer in a menacing fashion.

“We’ve never fucked, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“But you _have_ done something more than a friendly pat on the shoulder?” Sam decided it was probably safer to stand, given that Dean was walking toward him like a really fucked off tiger. Was Dean’s sentence true? He honestly didn’t know anymore.

“Sammy. I’m warning you to leave it alone.”

Sam held up his hands in an acknowledging manner, knowing he was being a bastard and yet strangely unable to resist it. Still curious, though. This long with his brother, pretty much living in each other’s pockets, and he didn’t know? That was epic levels of care. He didn’t even realise Dean had the patience.

“I didn’t know you were into guys.”

“I’m not.” Dean closed the distance between them even further. Sam held his ground. A reaction had been expected although this was definitely a route he hadn’t expected. Still, did it matter? From the look in Dean’s eyes and the small familiar buzz of adrenaline working its way through Sam’s body, he was pretty sure that the conversation was an excuse on both their sides for an escalating environment.

He certainly didn’t disapprove if Dean was into men or indeed anything that could consent. And Dean had enough experience of not caring what other people thought.

But as a reason for aggression? Fit the bill pretty well.

“Okay.” Sam replied simply. Dean’s eyes narrowed, stopping a very, very short distance away. 

“Ooh, fight club.” Lucifer sounded pleased. “First rule of fight club - deny it even exists, even if you’re in the middle of punching your brother in the stomach.”

Sam broke the gaze to give Lucifer a glare, which was another mistake to add to his pile as Dean took the advantage. An instinctive jerk away was the only thing that saved him from a hard strike toward his jaw, Sam stumbling to the side before coming back fighting. 

Of course Dean was ready for him. This had never been a display of intent, this was war. 

He was regretting the lack of clothes almost immediately. Sam slammed an elbow backward, partly to give himself time to breathe rather than intent to hit, and twisted into a better position as Dean dodged. Ducking the next punch and striking out again, Sam felt his blow catch his brother in the chest although not as heavily as he’d intended. In contrast, Dean had a strategy, and sacrificing his ribs was clearly part of that. Sam suddenly realised he’d fallen into the trap as Dean twisted faster than an eel and slammed a knee upward just as he smashed his arm down, catching Sam’s shoulder and causing him to stumble.

Sam glared upward as he recovered his breath. Right. Game on.

Punch, jab, duck, kick. Repeat in various and often sneaky forms, until they were both out of breath, sore and yet still anxious to continue. Sure, they never went for their real hard hitters - Dean alone had a jaw punch that could drop a heavy bar fighter cold - but that didn’t make the rest of them any less painful or secretly satisfying. Or not so secret, he guessed. Dean’s expression was still one of fierceness but there was a gleam in his eyes that fully stated that on some level he was enjoying this, echoed when he simply ignored several KO options to length the fight time. 

Oh yeah, Dean could have stopped this a while back. He wasn’t planning to, and neither was Sam.

Still, their day job messed things up a bit by having honed fighting moves into instinctual ones. Dean found himself flung through a chair as Sam automatically reacted to a kick, grabbing Dean’s leg and swivelling on the ball on his foot to redirect his momentum with a little more efficiency than planned. Sam had at least two solid bruises already forming from where Dean had reacted faster and stronger than either of them had predicted. Sam wasn’t even thinking any more, simply reacting and feeling and touching and growling, and the feeling seemed to be mutual.

It was quick, dirty and powerful. And fuck, was it satisfying. Sometimes Sam reckoned it was the only way they could communicate at a real level nowadays.

The fight finished almost as quickly as it had started, and with just as much sneakiness. Sam had ducked back to avoid a blow toward his chin but hadn’t appreciated Dean’s speed. A few seconds later and Dean had launched himself, slamming into Sam’s midsection and sending them both sprawling back onto Sam’s queen bed behind them with enough power that the jolt sent shock-waves through Sam’s body. Dean didn’t hesitate. A short wriggle later and Dean was pinning him down, hands on Sam’s wrists and straddling his waist as Dean stared down at him. A very thin trickle of blood worked its way lazily from a cut on Dean’s lip.

For a moment they just stared at each other, before Sam slowly allowed the tension to leave his body to indicate his surrender. 

Dean didn’t move.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. Unexpected.

“Aww, boo. And there was me thinking you two could last longer.” Lucifer complained. Sam ignored him.

“...what?” Sam asked suspiciously, and tried to move his right hand. Dean calmly added more pressure to keep the limb pinned. 

Mm.

“I want to know why you’re asking these questions.” Dean spoke finally in a tone that Sam couldn’t quite place. Wasn’t his furious one but wasn’t an amused one either. And Dean’s weight was very firmly and very deliberately doing its best to keep Sam pinned down on the bed, which was novel regardless of what Dean’s voice was doing. 

“He’s trying to understand your motivation.” Lucifer commented idly.

Sam almost retorted with ‘yes, I got that bit’ but suddenly remembered he was the only one to hear Lucifer’s handy hints. Did his motivation matter? Surely it was either ‘curious’ or ‘bad’. 

“So what _did_ happen with Cas?” Sam asked instead. The slightly smug look in Dean’s eyes faded to a shifter expression, before he shook his head.

“Nothing much. Curiosity on both our parts. Why are you asking?” 

“You kissed?” Sam guessed. Dean growled through his teeth.

“No. Just .. wait, _you_ lost. Answer your own goddamn question!” Dean shifted his weight to make a point of their current positions. Sam did not need the point. He was very, very aware of where Dean was. And, from the sudden look of surprise in Dean’s eyes, it suggested that his ass had finally worked out exactly what was encased in jeans beneath it.

Their eyes met silently, Dean’s in shocked question and Sam’s in rueful acknowledgement.

“Dammit.” said Lucifer. “I forgot the popcorn.”

Fuck, he hated that creature. Hallucination. Whatever.

Dean was still having trouble. He licked his bottom lip but that was the only part of his body he moved, remaining so still it was as though the witches had turned him to stone. Sam’s body ached more than the punches that had landed, and he hated himself. 

“Sammy..,” his voice was super cautious, the type that was used to avoid scaring small children until the adult was close enough to grab them away from whatever lethal thing they were stood by.

“I can explain.”

There was a long, long pause as even the universe waited for the explanation of why Sam had a hard, heavy and persistent erection under his brother’s body. Finally Sam sighed and closed his eyes. 

“I can’t explain.” What were the options? Hiding feelings for his brother, or his head currently contained a hallucination of Lucifer adding commentary to his already fucked up days. And did he even know which was the right one anyway?

“Lies. So many lies,” came from Lucifer’s corner cheerfully.

“So this is the entire problem with me walking around naked?” Dean said slowly. 

The continuation of the conversation while Dean remained straddled over his waist was also unexpected. Sam had assumed there would be more fleeing, swearing and possibly disownment. He risked opening his eyes warily.

“Uh. Yeah.”

Dean looked as though he was trying to calculate quantum physics in his head. “But you’ve been fine with me in the past. What’s changed?”

“I don’t know.” Sam carefully tested Dean’s hold on him and found it still pretty damned solid. “Uh, Dean.. you wanna get off me?”

“You know,” Lucifer commented. “I don’t think he does. Can I claim the ‘I told you so’ yet?”

Sam ignored him again. Dean was still giving him a strange look, part confusion, part calculation, part grr that was part of Dean’s general life philosophy anyway. Ordinarily he’d give his brother all the time in the world to come to whatever conclusion he fancied, but right now Dean was pressing on parts of Sam that were rapidly reaching almost agonising levels. Every small shift of body weight sent sensations shooting through him, and there was only so much of that which was bearable.

“Dean.” Sam tried to break through, wriggling slightly and then stopping with a hiss as this proved to be more torturous than before. “C’mon, we can talk about this.”

“You want to go back to _talk?_ ” Lucifer pfted. “Come now, Sam. Although not _right_ now, more foreplay is preferable.” 

“I thought you were the .. well, sensible one.” Dean’s voice was gruff.

“Given how many fuck ups you’ve had, I really hope not,” Lucifer said.

“I think sensible left us a long time ago.” Sam had to agree with Lucifer, much to his dislike. He tugged against Dean’s hand again and found it still reluctant to move. He looked up again at the faintly battered face, the thin trickle of blood having already dried, the eager but guilty expression that had played such a prominent role in their childhood.

“Dean.” Sam murmured. “If you’re going to do something, do it. If not, get off.”

They stared at each other again, until Dean finally released his hands and pushed himself off. Fuck. _Fuck!_ This wasn’t supposed to be a ‘give up’ point, this was the dramatic point where Dean signed up for the Enjoyable But Socially Limiting Sexual Activity and-

Dean had stripped off his shirt and pants and was staring back at him with impatience and a sizeable erection.

“Well, get the damned clothes off,” he snapped.

“...what?”

“He said-,” Lucifer began.

“I heard what he said!” Sam followed his brother, pulling off the fabric and tossing it to one side as Dean prowled closer. Dean glanced down and hesitated, eyes growing wider.

“Fuck, you’re big.” 

Sam had no idea what to do with that.

“Well… proportions..,” Sam shrugged a little helplessly, but Dean was staring at him with a mix of wonder and nerves for a few moments before snapping himself out of it and refocusing on Sam with a look of determination. Sam was about to say something else - what was another matter - when Dean shoved him back on the bed hard enough that the bed creaked in protest. A second later and Dean was positioned over him again, staring down with the determined gaze that Dean always got when he was just about to do something crazy.

There was another small period of silence, presumably for objections. And then-

And then things got messy, inappropriate and pretty damned good. Their mouths met hungrily and aggressively, the heat of Dean’s body pressing against him hard and hot and demandingly as the kiss deepened. Not that Sam was feeling in the mood to let his brother call all the shots; one hand was already gripping hold of Dean’s ass tight, the other wrapped around Dean’s shoulders and pulling him in tight.

Felt good. Weirdly felt right as well, although he had no doubt that feeling would leave quickly. He already knew Dean’s reactions better than he did his own, every kiss, every shiver, every movement that he could counter. Kiss turned into fumble, Dean’s arousal pressing hard and hot into Sam’s stomach as Dean’s hands wandered over him and Sam allowed it for a few moments before using his greater weight to flip their positions and offering a smug grin at Dean’s sulky expression.

“What’s the matter?” Sam panted as he leaned down and tilted his head innocently. “Not what you had planned?”

Dean’s eyes gleamed with hunger and the challenge and Sam had all of two seconds to fully appreciate that look before his brother tried to strike back. Not that he got very far. Sam twisted slightly and then landed his full weight onto Dean’s body, pinning him harder to the bed and managing to grab hold of one wrist to restrain it above his brother’s head. Dean twisted and writhed under him but Sam waited him out, keeping his weight steady until Dean had finally subsided in a little puddle of brief exhaustion.

“...bastard…,” he panted. 

“As charged.” Sam murmured, but he didn’t care about the back and forth, not right now. Not with Dean’s trembling body underneath him, a light sheen of sweat adding an element he hadn’t expected but fully appreciated. Sam leaned down to nuzzle into the crook of Dean’s neck and enjoyed the soft moan of need that escaped Dean’s lips at the touch. His brother’s unclaimed hand was sliding over the muscle of Sam’s back, lingering over the curve of his waist before sliding downward and gripping his ass so hard that marks were guaranteed.

“..fuck..,” Sam breathed heavily against Dean’s neck as said hand slowly worked its way over the muscle of Sam’s backside. He hadn’t realised how much this would turn him on. Hadn’t realised there was even any more ability _to_ be turned on, for that matter. Ache had turned to agony, and he ground himself against Dean in an apparent self-torture mission. Jesus Christ, he needed to _move_.

Not that Dean was any less keen. Soft little moans were escaping and a light flush had crept to his brother’s face, the dazed, slightly vacant eyes suggesting that Dean was very much focusing on the hardness wedged between their bodies.

They needed to do something. Anything. At this stage, Sam was happy to just experiment and leave the result up to whichever heavenly body wanted to offer a hopefully metaphorical hand. 

“Dean-,”

“Just do it.” the words were forced out.

...and that wasn’t what he’d expected. Sam froze at this unexpected turn of events, having fully expected Dean to be the one on top. 

“..what?”

Furious but desperate eyes turned to him. “I said, _do it_. What, you need directions?”

“Actually, yeah. Define ‘it’.” 

This was not a time to make a literal wild stab in the dark. Oh, and Dean hated the question. There was a blaze in green eyes that could have set the pillows on fire, his jaw tenser than a drawn arrow string. Sam met his stare defiantly. This was not something he was going to back down on. Shit was weird enough without interpretation showing up as well.

The snarl from Dean was unintelligible but almost certainly rude. He bucked against Sam’s solid body but he’d been expecting that, riding out the outrage and keeping his weight firmly fixed to his brother. Could have guessed this would happen. Dean hated explanations, hated having to admit to feelings or vulnerabilities or desires. Easier to just grab and go, and Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if Dean’s sudden need to be on the bottom hadn’t resulted from wanting to make sure any hurt or mistakes ended up on Dean’s ass rather than Sam’s.

And a furious Dean was pretty damned hot as well. The burning, furious look promising blood. The curl to the lip. The somewhat demonic way his eyes darkened and his body trembled with need and fury and emotion. Mm.

“Talk.” Sam placed his free arm across Dean’s throat and gently pressed. Sure, they both knew it was an empty threat, but that didn’t seem to matter. Dean’s eyes darkened further but Sam could feel him shifting his hips underneath him, grounding his dick against Sam’s body. Oh yeah, there was apparently no objection from Dean over the little touch of breath play.

“Fine.” Dean growled out. “Fuck me. Okay?”

Not the most gracious of comments, nor the most eloquent, but who cared. But Dean wasn’t finished.

“Now. No messing. Get on with it.” 

Sam blinked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he almost snorted the response out of how ridiculous it was. “ _No_. Prep first,”

Dean made a strangled noise and rolled his eyes. “Fuck sake, man, just get on with it.”

“You’d whine just with one finger in you. My cock buried in you, dry? You’d howl the place down.” Sam objected, voice low and what he felt was reasonable. Dean’s eyes darkened again, little desperate bucks against Sam’s body and apparently the thought was doing good things to his brother’s arousal levels.

Really? A small smile curled at the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“Is that what you want?” Sam bent his head so his mouth was inches from Dean’s ear. “Feeling helpless. Taken. Body tied up and available. Your little hole being forced to accept me. Yelping against the hand across your mouth. Your body so tight that I can feel every shudder, every breath, through my cock when it’s buried deep in you. My hand over your throat, controlling your air..,”

Dean whimpered helplessly, his eyes closing and cock grinding harder against Sam. He could feel the damp stickiness of his brother’s pre-cum over his body and the little shudders working through his body.

Okay, well, that was a yes. He was faintly amazed that Lucifer hadn’t pointed that out yet, but any silence was a good silence. The hallucination was probably eating popcorn from the corner and scoring him out of 10. And Sam didn’t want to think how many of the words that had escaped his own mouth sounded far too much like Lucifer’s thoughts. Where the fuck had they all come from, anyway? He’d done rough play before but nowhere near that level. 

Only, right about now, he was definitely filing it away to gingerly consider later on. For now? More important business to worry about.

“ _Is that what you want, Dean?_ ” Sam pressed the matter in a flicker of evil, knowing that Dean would prefer to pull out his own tooth before admitting any type of desire that wasn’t mainstream hetrosexual, and sure enough there was another snarl of a trapped animal.

“I can’t hear you.” Sam whispered.

“You’re a fucking bastard.” Dean whispered back.

“I know. Answer?”

“Fucking hate you.”

“Gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Answer?”

Dean bucked again but didn’t even shift a centimeter. His eyes had reopened and there was a look of wildness in them, a predator caught in a bear trap and wondering whether to admit defeat or chew its own foot off. However there was also a wonderfully dazed look, a lost, distant expression as arousal battled stubbornness and anxiety.

“ _Answer_ ,” Sam growled the word softly in Dean’s ear and slowly rotated his own hips to punctuate the point. Another full body shiver and Dean whined softly in need and frustration. 

Another long, long silence, only occasionally broken by the distant sound of a car in the background. Dean squirmed again fruitlessly before glaring at him. Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“Yes.” the word was spat out. Sam’s grin grew a little more. Couldn’t push it past this point without affecting the outcome, but that didn’t stop the glowing warmth of satisfaction.

“Good,” Sam purred. This was a little too easy now, their roles, the words, the thoughts. Like some fucked up, sweaty version of their old training routines they used to do as kids before The World decided that training was over and real monsters could do the job instead. He was aware of a little ball of burning shame present but it was quieter, tucked in the corner and ignorable until probably the small hours in the morning when he could digest everything in small detail. Until that point, the evening was theirs.

Dean wriggled again with a soft grunt of effort, and a furious look aimed itself back at him.

“Well?” he demanded. “I said yes. I wanted it. You want to be on top then you gotta get a move on!”

“Mm.” Sam dipped his head and lazily ran his tongue over Dean’s chest, deliberately keeping their lower halves pinned as he did so. And Dean maintained there was no point to yoga. Honestly.

HIs brother shivered and snarled again, and he had a point. Throbbing arousal was swiftly turning painful, and there was a shiver of pleasure as Sam’s teeth nipped at Dean’s nipple lightly.

Still, the question of prep hadn’t gone away. Spit, pre-cum, a nod in the right direction but nowhere near enough to stop injuries, and unless Dean had been hiding stuff away from him again then professional liquids weren’t in their possession. Sam desperately racked his mind for potential solutions. What the hell did people used to do when the pharmacist wasn’t a possibility?

“Salad.” his eyes sparkled for a moment. Dean’s snarl hesitated in the face of weirdness.

“...what?”

“Salad.”

“You are seriously fucked up, Sammy-,” Dean trailed off as Sam pushed himself off and prowled back toward the shopping they’d bought last night and never really got around to. A careful rummage produced a sad looking salad and, more importantly, the small little tube of olive oil that had come with it in an attempt to make it mediterranean.

Pleased, Sam made his way back to the bed and had lifted his hand to show Dean the prize when his brother struck again with the speed and dexterity of a greased weasel. Two seconds later and Sam found himself flat on his back, Dean’s legs wrapped around his own and a smug expression in clearly hungry eyes.

“What happened to ‘fuck me’?” Sam’s eyebrows rose although his voice was amused. 

“Don’t care who goes into what. Let’s just _get on with it_.” Dean’s already naturally husky voice was even deeper than normal, and Sam’s response was swallowed by another hard, messy kiss. Not that the kiss really blocked anything; Sam’s ability to talk was ruined as soon as Dean’s hand burrowed between them and began to stroke him off with rough, quick, fucking fantastic strokes.

Groaning, Sam forced himself to grab hold of Dean’s hand, stilling him. 

“Then let’s make this fairer, okay?” his voice was a gasp.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, uncertain where this was going. Sam grabbed the olive oil and waggled it. The suspicious look didn’t improve.

“You want me to drizzle that over you?” Dean asked drily. Sam gave a little huff-laugh and shook his head.

“Get it everywhere. Both of us. Then whoever wins..,”

Comprehension was beginning to dawn in Dean’s eyes. “Like that fighting porn thing?”

“I have no idea what that fighting porn thing is, but probably if they have lube involved.”

“Mm.” Dean made a soft grunt, but his eyes still sparkled interest. He took hold of the little bottle and squinted at it. “Extra virgin, huh? It’s like they knew you were coming.”

“You saying you’re _not_?” Sam asked sweetly. “What were you up to on some of your solo hunting trips?”

“Fuck off.” The words were at least good natured. “This stuff’s safe, right? No random stinging?”

“You’ll probably smell like a salad for a while, but it’s safe enough.”

“Fucking vegetables.”

“I’m not a chef but if you’re fucking the vegetables you’re doing it wrong.” Sam uncapped the oil and carefully poured a small amount into the palm of Dean’s hand, followed by his own. A quick rub and his fingers and whole hand was slick, shiny and, yeah, olivey. Just needed the breadsticks. The bottle was put to one side deliberately close enough to top up.

They studied each other, still slightly breathless, eager and definitely, definitely wanting to win.

“Game on.” Dean growled, and pounced. And it was messy, dark, hungry and unrepentant, just how Sam had always imagined it. Their mouths battled for dominance as they twisted and squirmed and forced and fell back and met again in a primal ball of need.

Didn’t take long for it to end up the same way as many of their wrestling matches, both pinned down in some way but with enough wriggle room for the winner to be undecided. Only this time it wasn’t intended to have a firm winner; Dean might currently have his face shoved into a mattress but he still had a free hand and that was gripped around Sam’s cock in such a way that both thinking and breathing were compromised. And Dean might have his hand in a perfectly good controlling position, but his legs were pinned and his ass was upturned and Sam relished the revenge as he burrowed a slick finger inside him even as he gasped for breath from the sensation.

“...fuck!” Dean bucked hard against the intrusion, his soft whimper almost lost against the sound of the rain outside. The hand on Sam’s crotch stilled as its owner focused elsewhere and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

This proved to be premature as Dean put in more strength and determination to bucking him off. Unable to fight him off properly without both hands, Sam suddenly found himself flipped on his back with a smug looking Dean leaning over him.

“I thought you _wanted_ to be fucked?” Sam panted. The smug grin widened.

“Well, that was _before_ you turned it into a competition.” Dean dipped his head and lazily ran his tongue from Sam’s chest up his neck like a great, glorious, slightly disturbing cat. Sam growled softly and shifted his body but Dean was ready for him and rode him out.

Dean’s wrestling pins were good. Said pins were not, however, designed with ass access in mind. They studied each other, both knowing full well that Dean would have to relinquish his grip in order to do anything, and equally knowing that Sam had the size advantage should he do so.

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean looked a little less cocky.

There was a very long pause. Sam deliberately circled his hips to press his erection against Dean’s, the blaze of pleasure that shot through him repeating in his brother based on the way that Dean’s eyes closed, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as the sensation shuddered through him. 

Sexy as fuck. And weirdly good to see. Dean had been pretty damned uptight recently; him lost in anything that wasn’t a bloody nightmare made Sam pleased.

Dean whimpering, cock leaking against the firmness of Sam’s stomach, was even better.

“Gonna give up? You’re not going to win,” Sam whispered. Dean’s eyes snapped open, a furious glare aiming itself at Sam.

“ _I don’t give up._ ” 

On reflection, the tease was a bit of a mistake. Dean pushed down harder as though his life depended on it, a soft snarl in the air as they struggled. After a few moments, Sam relaxed his hold a touch, not enough to be noticeable but enough to allow his brother to gain the advantage. If Dean didn’t want to lose then Sam was more than happy to take the impact. Hell, really happy, sometimes he forgot the loser won at the same time.

And sometimes it was enough to watch the little spark of triumph in Dean’s eyes, the need to push, to go down fighting with teeth bared and a little primal gleam in his eyes. 

He didn’t quite regret it but there was a distinct point where Sam reconsidered his decisions; Dean had done a damned good job of pinning him down and curling him slightly to allow access; if he was in his right mind Sam would have labelled it an aggressive spooning situation, but Dean’s fingers were delicately stroking across the sensitive pucker of his ass and his breath was in Sam’s ear and the heat of his slick body was pressed so hard against him that Sam had lost all real control over his thoughts other than the blatantly obvious.

Dean was also gentler than Sam had given him credit for. Having anticipated fingers forcing their way into him, he was startled by the small little strokes with a thankfully still slick finger before it tried to press further inside. Sam fought against the instinctual clench, biting his lip and trying to remember to breathe as Dean patiently waited for him to relax further.

Easier said than done. Porn, daydreams, random thoughts in his head, everything had put this down as a step to easily get over and yet his ass was just as insistent that it held a one way only policy. Sam shifted his position again, not fighting but not quite willing to be obedient considering the current circumstance.

One finger turned into two and he was beginning to wish for a little more oil. Already breathless, Sam groaned weakly and tipped his head forward as his eyes closed. 

“Sammy?” Dean murmured, a small kiss to his neck that made Sam shiver.

“M’ok.” Sam murmured back. “Keep going.”

Okay was stretching the meaning of the word and Sam didn’t know what it was other than the fact it was weirdly good. He groaned again, softer, as Dean nipped at his neck with his teeth and his fingers slowly twisted deeper inside him. Hadn’t felt this close to his brother in years, especially not with all the fighting they’d done in the recent months. 

Saying that, this wasn’t exactly the method he’d anticipated.

Dean paused to grab the little bottle from the side and top up, fingers returning to Sam’s hole in order to spread the slickness further. And now those fingers were moving easier, smoothly coating him as they twisted and turned and stretched, and Sam turned more onto his front to give his brother access. The wrestling pin was forgotten, one of Sam’s hands stretched above his head to grip the sheet harder as Dean worked.

How did Dean get so _good_ at this?!

And why the hell was Sam complaining? 

Sam groaned again helplessly, his cock twitching against his stomach at each movement. The jolt through his body as a finger brushed against his prostate made him yelp, panting and startled by the intensity before Dean shushed him down again. 

“Done this before, huh?” Sam couldn’t resist the murmur. There was a soft grunt from Dean that could have been anything, but his fingers didn’t slow and Sam could feel Dean’s groin hard and hot against his thigh as he pressed down. Okay. Teasing could wait until later. Pressing his forehead against the mattress, Sam allowed his hand to slip between his own body and the bed, taking himself in his hand and slowly beginning to stroke with the movements.

Half expecting Dean to complain in a moment of control freak, Sam was half conscious of his brother waiting, assessing and then carefully beginning to time his finger’s movements to the strokes of Sam’s hands. Over and over, deeper and then lighter, the occasional feather touch across his opening before deeper again. Sam bit back a cry, his hand finding a faster rhythm as he lost himself to what his brother was doing.

And his brother was doing a lot.

Dean moved away after one more plunge of the fingers, the emptiness enough of a shock to break through Sam’s daze and turn his head slightly. 

“Hold fast, Sammy,” a deep, gruff voice that was still full of concern, and Sam was about to protest when Dean’s body moved, the heat against his legs and the blunt tip of his brother’s cock pressing slowly but firmly easing into Sam’s body. Sure he was slick and he was stretched but that didn’t come close to fully representing Dean’s size or sheer strength and the breath was almost knocked from his body as Sam clung harder to the mattress. Didn’t make a sound though, didn’t want to upset him, and he bit his lip harder as Dean pushed deeper with agonising care.

Finally Dean stopped and Sam allowed a shaky gasp of a breath to escape as he tried to ease his shocked body. And yet this was still damned good; his own groin favoured the intrusion, the aching need finding a whole new level of agonising throbbing and his head was … well, quiet. The _only_ thing he could think of was the need running through him, the solid presence of Dean that couldn’t be forgotten, denied or anything else, and the relief washed through him. No Lucifer. No wandering mind. No guilt. Just here and now, and Sam’s hand curled harder into the blankets as he lowered his head down and forced himself to relax.

Dean hadn’t moved since he had slid in, propped up on his elbows as he waited. Every so often Sam could feel a little shiver work its way through Dean’s body, normally whenever Sam had gripped around the heavy cock deep inside him, but Dean refused to make a noise or move until he received the okay.

“... move..,” he groaned. Dean hesitated, and Sam reviewed his choice of words through the fog of sensation. “..c’mon, start _moving_.”

Still very little. Sam growled deep in his throat and shifted his hips, trying to set a rhythm off himself despite the very limited space to move in. He shoved himself up, forcing Dean’s hardness even deeper into himself before his brother finally, _finally_ got the message he should be doing something rather than daydreaming.

Sam was conscious of a small kiss on his shoulder and the softest of laughs before Dean readjusted his position and began to move.

Jesus. And he thought it was intense before.

His lip bitten so hard that he tasted blood, Sam allowed his forehead to settle on the mattress as he was entered over and over again with increasing power and focus. He could hear Dean behind him, the soft grunts, the breathless gasps, the faintest of groans as Dean’s fingers tightened on Sam’s hip hard enough to leave bruises. 

Didn’t know how long it had been but then he didn’t much care what was happening in reality. His head was comfortably dazed, lost in his own world of sensation, and Sam’s breath caught as he felt the edges of the climax slowly draw closer. Dean didn’t seem much better; his breathing was hard and almost violent, a quiet snarl in intense concentration.

A concentration that Sam accidentally ruined, a thrust from Dean hitting a spot that was both fantastic and shocking, and Sam clenched instinctively with a pained gasp. From the way that Dean stiffened against him, apparently his brother’s distance from his own climax was even less than Sam’s. 

Another clench sealed the deal; shuddering into him, Dean’s hand fumbled for Sam’s cock and roughly stroked him with a hint of desperation and not a huge amount of accuracy. Not that accuracy was particularly needed. A moment longer and Sam had followed his brother, pleasure shooting through him so hard that he was barely conscious of the way his body clenched and shuddered and shook. His collapse on the bed was less calculated and more a catastrophic failure of his muscles to continue to prop him up, a pile of limbs and sweat and stickiness and pleasure.

Finally Dean slowly extracted himself and rolled to one side, groaning as his back hit the mattress.

“...fuck..,”

“Mghfpghh.” Sam wasn’t quite ready for the concept of talking. Hell, he was barely able to get his breathing working right.

For a few minutes they shared a companionable silence as heart rates slowed and breathing returned to normal and the sweat cooled on their bodies. Sam was beginning to feel extremely sticky, but couldn’t quite bring his motivation high enough to fight his muscles that had clearly voted to remain where they were. 

Dean hadn’t moved either. A quick glance confirmed a sprawled starfish next to him who was clearly studying the ceiling with the detached nature of one who was only looking because it was less effort than finding something more interesting to look at.

“Ngh.” Sam slowly pushed himself up onto hands and knees and then gingerly flopped himself onto his back, pressing against Dean’s side. Dean grinned lazily and stretched for a moment before finally breaking his stare from the ceiling and eyeing him.

“You okay?”

Sam was automatically going to say ‘debatable’ but bit that back as likely to cause either anger or worry or both. 

“Yeah,” he drawled finally, once his mouth remembered how to work. “... you?”

“I think I pulled something.”

“Yeah. Me.”

Dean’s arm lazily swatted his stomach with a slap, although good naturedly. He settled back with a sigh and returned to study his ceiling. Sam turned his attention to it. It was still a pretty dull ceiling. Only the ceiling wasn’t the only thing he had to look for, and Sam groaned in his mind as he finally forced himself to squint around the room to find out what happened to Lucifer.

Nothing.

_Nothing?!_

There hadn’t been nothing in over a week. Hadn’t found anything to get rid of Lucifer, whether it be pain or loud music or reading or running or hunting or whatever else. And now he had gone? Sam blinked in uncertainty and then slowly, hesitantly, lay back on the bed to process.

Dean was watching him.

“You don’t look okay.” he advised. “In fact, you still look fucked up.”

“No… no.. actually I feel… _good_.” The bewilderment must have been evident in his voice as Dean snorted ruefully.

“Sorry for disappointing you.”

“Don’t be an asshole, not now.”

“Poor choice of description right at this point, Sammy.” Dean advised in tired amusement, but took the hint. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“This isn’t a sorry situation.”

“It’s my life. Everything’s a sorry situation.” Dean drawled, but there was a small, amused smile as he said it. Didn’t mean that Dean didn’t believe that his life was one long fuck up, but Sam was pretty sure that Dean had accepted whatever it was that he believed. Another thing their father had given his elder son; couldn’t have dreams if they were stolen away at an early age. Dean had always just been a soldier to the grinder.

At this point Lucifer would have been chiming in, adding observations, whispering comments. The peace was so beautiful Sam could have cried. Definitely wasn’t going to cry though, Dean would completely freak out and rightly so.

“Why?” asked Sam after another long silence. He could almost feel Dean’s brow furrow at the question.

“Why what?”

“Why this?”

“Dude. you sure you got into law school? Because you really got to talk more and waggle eyebrows less.” Dean grumbled. “Either expand the question or shush, ‘kay?”

“Why did you fuck me? This whole situation. I know you’re gonna suggest it was opportunity but it wasn’t, was it. Not really.”

Dean was silent, probably regretting his comment. Sam was about to say something more when there was a soft growl of annoyance, mostly aimed at the ceiling again.

“I missed the closeness,”

Sam stared at him uncomprehendingly. That hadn’t been what he had expected to hear. And he was about to comment on how they hadn’t really been that close for a while when the realisation washed over him. It wasn’t him that Dean had been missing. Sure, they’d had their ups and downs, but Dean had been thinking of someone else. Someone else who had taught him the gentleness, how to react, how to touch, how to curl up. Someone else whose trenchcoat was still sat in the trunk of Dean’s car, unable to be removed.

So much for ‘never fucked’. His brother had been in love and Sam hadn’t even noticed.

He let out a soft breath and noted the small sad smile on Dean’s face that signaled that his brother had worked out Sam’s understanding. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered. It was a lame offering but there was little else he could do. Dean shrugged.

“Can’t focus on the past too long, right? Gotta keep moving. S’like sharks swimming or some crap like that,” Dean’s voice was rough and deliberately casual.

Of course they both knew how bullshit his words were, but that didn’t make any difference whatsoever. Their lives seemed to be a series of public faces, masks to shield everything from everyone. Still, it was good to have him there. Misery loved company it was said, but there was something to be said for having someone close by who understood without saying anything. They might fight like cats and dogs every so often - and increasingly - but they’d been there through thick and thin and each other’s vulnerabilities were almost their own.

Dean paused. “You?”

“I needed my head to stop talking at me.” Sam replied truthfully. Dean glanced at him for a moment before giving another little shrug of understanding. 

“Sex and pain. Definitely a distraction,” Dean accepted that without question, but then Dean had always been king of using drink or sex or loud music turned up to earsplitting to blot out thoughts. Sam considered briefly about expanding on his head lodger, and decided against it. Dean had enough on his plate and quite frankly Sam was getting tired of having to argue that he wasn’t broken or a monster or whatever else had happened to him today. 

Another silence.

Dean was hesitating over something. Sam could almost hear his mind work out the best way to say whatever it was. Sam huffed a soft laugh.

“Spit it out.”

There was a soft grumble, another delay, and finally..

“If you’d had another choice when it came to sexual partner-,” Dean began carefully when Sam cut him off. Hey, one he could answer. The novelty of it all.

“Still would have been you, Dean. Always been you.” Sam had given up with the lies. It wasn’t worth the stress of keeping them. Seriously, who would know? Lucifer for all his faults had a point. Keeping up with the neighbours was one thing, but there was no point if you were in the middle of a jungle miles from anyone else. 

That seemed to please his brother at least. Another smile, a little warmer. 

“Good,” Dean said gruffly, and pulled him closer to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead like they’d done when they were kids. Didn’t need to ask Dean the same. No way that Dean would have gone for any other man other than him. Well, him and Cas, anyway.

They lazed back on the bed and continued their watch of the ceiling just in case it decided to do anything funny. Sam smiled to himself ruefully. So it didn’t turn out horrific after all. Who knew?

And somewhere there were the softest words hanging in the air, at the edge of audible.

“... told you so..”

Only this time, no one was listening.

END


End file.
